


I Shatter Only For You To Put The Pieces Back Together

by Crowoxy



Series: Dragons Everywhere [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Group fluff, Group sleepover, Hawke loves everyone platonically, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Poor Anders, Trips to the Wounded Coast, Varric is the dad of the group
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5811370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowoxy/pseuds/Crowoxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders works day and night with the clinic and the Mage Underground and on top of that follows Hawke whenever he asks. There's barely enough time to sleep, let alone eat and something has to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Shatter Only For You To Put The Pieces Back Together

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt Fill from LiveJournal: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11099.html?thread=44245339#t44245339
> 
> Anders spends so much time in the clinic, secreting mages to safety, and following Hawke around that he has practically no time to himself. He gets back from one thing and falls right into another. Sleep and meals are stolen in the scarce time he gets between his duties, which isn't much time at all. He starts to reach the breaking point and by the time anyone notices, it's too late to pull him back. One more tiny nudge results in a catastrophic breakdown.
> 
> Bonus points if the breakdown occurs in a public place(maybe Hawke invites Anders to the Hanged Man in an attempt to get him to relax and someone asks a poorly worded question that sets him off) and he is so weary that even Justice is too worn down to manifest. He doesn't give off a spark of magic, just goes from tense to extraordinarily-not-okay in an instant. Verbally lashing out, scrambling away from companions to avoid their touch, and if you like, eventually becoming so overwhelmed that he suddenly passes out and drops from exhaustion.
> 
> It would be nice if he came to with someone stroking his hair or something sweet like that but it's up to you!

It felt like it had been only a few minutes since Anders managed to stumble back into his clinic and into the back room that served as his bedroom before insistent pounding at his door had him tripping back out.

 

 **That’s because it has only been a few minutes.** For a spirit of the Fade that claimed to be seemingly tireless, Justice sounded as weary as Anders felt.

 

“I can’t even remember what we were doing last night.” Anders muttered to himself, grabbing his staff that had been thrown near the entrance and going to open the latch that passed for a lock in Darktown.

 

**We were helping two more mages from Gallows.**

 

“Ah right, Ser Lance had said they were scheduled for Tranquility at dawn.” Even though the Mage Underground would be non functional without the help of the Templars on the inside and Anders had worked with this particular knight of the Chantry for years now, it still gave him a shiver of anxiety to hear the plated boots marching in the tunnels underneath the Gallows and see that blessed Sword of Mercy symbol etched on the chest plate as the Templar would lead several mages to the meeting point. Anders would hand a bag of payment, and he would be off sneaking mages several miles out of Kirkwall and out of reach of Knight-Commander Meredith’s paranoid talons.

 

**We are doing good work, Anders.**

 

“So you keep saying, Justice. So you keep saying.” Talking out loud wasn’t necessary to communicate with Justice; it had taken far too long of a time for them to figure out how to talk with words rather than just emotions bleeding through.

 

Anders pulled open the door and saw Hawke raising his fist to knock again. “Morning Anders!” The rogue was far too cheerful for anytime in Darktown. “How’s my favorite healer this fine day?”

 

“Ready to fall back into bed.” Anders scratched at the scruff growing on his face. He would need to shave at some point. Whenever he could find the time to do so anyways. Which was becoming more and more difficult to find nowadays. Anders couldn’t even remember the last time he had time to grab something to eat. There usually wasn’t much to find in Darktown, but there was always something to scavenge. And patients did sometimes leave food as a gift since Anders refused to take any coin from the refugees. But Maker, he was always just so tired, ready to collapse at any given moment if he had the chance to. But if it wasn’t Hawke needing his help, then it was a sudden influx of patients coming in for healing. Or it was time for another nerve-wracking trip to the Gallows in the dead of night. “Did you need something, Hawke? Or did you just stop on by for a greeting?”

 

“Well.” Hawke dragged out the word. “A bit of both? Of course I came to say hi, but also to ask if you’re available this afternoon for a jaunt to the Coast. I swear every time we go, there always seem to be more bandits or slavers hiding in the bushes. It’s like they spawn there or something. We can even go looking for those plants you always seem to run out of.”

 

Anders sighed. He really should just tell Hawke no. Just decline going for once and focus on other things rather than spend precious energy healing Hawke and whomever else he dragged with him into latest bloodbath.

 

“You know I can’t refuse a trip like that, Hawke.” Anders must have smiled reassuringly enough to Hawke because he soon found his knees nearly buckling as Hawke clasped one of his shoulders.

 

“I knew I could count on you, Anders!” It really wasn’t fair when Hawke smiled at him like that. “Come by the Hanged Man for a bit of the stew before we head out. Varric’s paying.”

 

Anders snorted. “I don’t know if vomiting lunch is a good battle tactic to use on slavers, Hawke. Worth an experiment if nothing else.”

 

“That’s the spirit!” Hawke beamed. “Or that’s your own internal voice agreeing I’m right, if you prefer.” The rogue turned and started sprinting down the steps away from his clinic and into Darktown. Why he always preferred running around rather than walking, no one knew. Anders had even asked Bethany before she went with the Wardens and all she could tell him was a shrug of her shoulders.

 

Anders watched as Hawke turned the corner and disappeared from view. All he wanted to do was fall over and curl up someplace, but the eyes of one of the refugee children peaked out from behind some crates had him pinching together his fingers over the lantern outside his doors, letting a wisp attach itself to the wick. A symbol to all the weary and ill that the Healer of Darktown was available to help them.

 

Anders heard the child scamper off as he stepped over the threshold of his clinic, most likely bringing his relative that required his services. There would be a line building up shortly once word got passed along through the residents of Darktown.

 

 **Anders.** Justice sounded concerned, worried even.

 

“I’ll be fine, Justice.” Anders murmured. “I’d rather be healing people and sitting down to write the manifesto. I couldn’t think of what words to write anyways.”

 

**But you’ll be accompanying Hawke to the Wounded Coast. Will you have enough energy?**

 

“That’s what I have you for, isn’t it?” Muffled footsteps in the dirt floor had Anders turning around to smile at his first patient of the day.

 

“Healer?” It was a young girl, nearly into adulthood, who shuffled in, one of her hands clasped tight to the little boy who Anders had seen earlier. Anders smiled and got to work.

 

* * *

 

His first patient had needed a potion to stave off the excessive bleeding and pain that came with having female organs. Anders told her to come by each month for the potion; he wouldn’t let her suffer for five days of the terrible cramping pain without trying something to help. The second patient who had wandered in was a Carta member who had gotten on the wrong side of Hawke and his blades the night before. The mage had sighed and reminded the dwarf to please inform his superiors, again – don’t forget the again – to stop murdering random citizens of Kirkwall whenever they ended up walking through the streets when the sun went down. He was going to start charging for healing the guilds, he really was. Dwayne had left a silver on the table in guilt, which Anders had given to the next family that walked in.

 

Anders didn’t remember the next few patients; he was too busy focusing on picking out the right potion, on making sure he had the right tools to be pulling out that arrowhead, on giving kind words and smiles to the people who came to his clinic. Which was why he was surprised when he felt a calloused hand on his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

“Whoa, Anders!” Hawke stood a few feet from him, palms up by his face. Anders tried to slow his rapidly beating heart, eardrums ringing with adrenaline.

 

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t hear you come in.” Anders checked to see if he had accidentally hurt Hawke when whirling around; lessons from Nate during his time in the Grey Wardens having instilled a reaction to slam his head back into anything that came up behind him.

 

“I forget myself how sneaky I can be.” Hawke patted himself on the back. From the entrance, Anders could hear Fenris’ distinctive scoff. “But anyways, you missed the Stew Special, so we decided to come get you, if you’re ready to head to the Coast.”

 

“Its already afternoon? I really lost track of time.” Anders sighed. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way down here.”

 

“I always like visiting my favorite healer. So does Fenris, even if he’ll never admit to it. And Aveline, even though she’ll admit to it even less.”

 

“I won’t admit to it because that means I’ll be playing favorites, Hawke.” Aveline stood impossibly straight and still near one of the cots; Anders always did marvel at her posture. “And the only favorite I’ll play with is my husband.”

 

Hawke howled with laughter, Fenris letting out a rare dry chuckle. Anders didn’t have the energy to do anything but smile. Aveline hardly ever made any jokes, at least in Anders’ presence, and it was hilarious; but giving his customary guffaws seemed too out of reach now.

 

It only took a few moments for the laughter to die down, Hawke wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “You need to tell more jokes, Guard-Captain. You’d be giving Varric a run for his money.”

 

“No, thank you.” Aveline said dryly. “Can we go now? There are slavers and bandits to take car of and unlike some people I care to name, I actually have things to do besides playing with the dog.”

 

“But you play with Donnic.”

 

“That joke would only work if Donnic was actually Fereldan, Hawke.”

 

“Damnit. Now I have to save that one for some other poor sod.” Hawke pouted. “Anyways, off we go! Here Anders, I know it’s not much of a special stew for lunch.” Hawke tossed him an apple, which Anders barely caught.

 

“Thanks Hawke. Let me just grab my bag and we can go.” Anders rushed into the backroom that served as his bedroom, his travel bag still packed from last night’s excursions. Anders dropped a few extra health and lyrium potions as a precaution and hooked it onto his belt, grabbing his staff to swing onto his back.

 

They were out of Kirkwall’s city gates by the hour. There was light conversation between the four of them, mostly Hawke babbling about anything, Fenris’ grunts as replies, Aveline’s exasperated responses, and Anders pitching in for the occasional snip.

 

The apple lay forgotten in his pack, his stomach long past growling in hunger from countless of forgotten meals.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t take them long to walk straight into a camp occupied by slavers. Walk being the absolute correct word to describe how no one had paid any attention until they had walked right into one of cages holding elves – Maker, why was it always elves? The loud clanging as Hawke’s chest plate hit the metal bars caught the attention of all the slavers who had been idly sitting by the fire sharing rations.

 

“How in the world did we miss this?” Aveline would be the one to ask such a question while raising her shield, preparing for the onslaught of weapons heading their way and rolling her eyes.

 

Fenris’ lyrium tattoos were already glowing, the blue lines framing his body in an ethereal glow that did nothing to hide the distasteful glare he sent the slavers’ way. His great sword swung easily in his grip, the great weight adding very little resistance to his speed of cutting down the enemy. Here and there, Anders could see Hawke pop in and out of the shadows and smoke screens, his daggers hitting vital spots: the steel pushing through leather armor like butter to stab at kidneys, livers, hearts, lungs, any organ that would cause a person to die from internal bleeding or shock in a few minutes. For the slavers wearing metal plates to protect themselves, Hawke struck at the areas where the armor wasn’t fused together, wounds that would never be fatal on their own, but collectively posed a great danger.

 

Anders could see all of his companions fight as he surveyed the battlefield. His task was support, sending healing spells to the warriors and the rogue whenever they needed it, barriers, and any offensive magic he could pull out to hit the archers aiming at his friends.

 

When it seemed like everything was under control, Anders turned to the cage holding the elves, freezing the lock and then shattering it with heat to open the door.

 

One of the elves let out a scream after they had all filed out, looking behind Anders in terror. Before even turning around, Anders a barrier and repulsion glyph around the elves, pivoting to see more slavers scurry down to the camp.

 

“Hawke! Reinforcements approaching!” Anders shouted over his shoulder, preparing a fireball to land right at the feet of the dozen or so slavers joining the battle. He reached into his pack and pulled out a lyrium bottle, opening the stopper with his teeth and downing all of the contents.

 

Adrenaline couldn’t mask the nausea from drinking processed lyrium on a more than empty stomach. Anders grimaced and pushed his revulsion aside. While never truly a challenging opponent, slavers had the tendency of always bringing along extra lackeys. Which meant more time spent getting rid of the vermin who thought they could make a profit on people’s lives.

 

What was difficult was keeping an eye on two sides of the camp. Hawke, Aveline, and Fenris still had not finished with the slavers who had been eating when they walked in and Anders could only spare a few passing creation spells their way while keeping the barrier up around the elves and slowing down the oncoming slavers, drawing heavily on Justice to supply him with power to keep casting.

 

He needed to down two more lyrium potions before Hawke dashed past him, flipping over the slavers for critical backstabs. Aveline joined him shortly to barrel into a line of slavers with her shield and Fenris wasn’t far behind. With half of the camp gone, Anders could fall back into his role of support staff, letting the sharp pointy objects work their magic on diminishing the number of slavers.

 

It was over a quarter of an hour later, the last of the slavers finally getting beheaded by a swing of Fenris’ sword. Anders let the barrier drop, feeling far emptier than he ever had in a very long time. Now that he had stopped casting, he could feel his hands trembling, and his stomach lurched. It felt like the three lyrium potions were sloshing around violently in his gut, and Anders hurried away from the crowd of people to retch into the bushes.

 

“The mage is unwell.” Fenris’ voice was distant to his ears, loud bumps in his ears blocking out the ambient noises.

 

“No shit, Fenris! Thank you for stating the obvious! Oh Maker, is that bile nothing but blue?”

 

A cold metal hand lightly brushed over the back of his neck, Aveline’s shield placed into the ground as the Guard-Captain squatted next to the mage. Her fingers rubbed his neck and Anders closed his eyes, taking deep heavy breaths; trying his hardest not to lean into the cool metal.

 

“Wesley, my first husband, would throw up after taking lyrium sometimes.” Aveline said softly. “He was a Templar, you know, and he hated being addicted to the dust. But occasionally, he’d ingest too much. Or he’d take it after being dry for too long and forgetting to eat beforehand.” Aveline fell silent, but didn’t move.

 

Anders wished he was able to keep better track of time because he had no idea how she sat with him, rubbing circles on his neck until he stopped dry heaving. Aveline patted his shoulder one last time and helped him up on his feet, Hawke and Fenris sitting a little ways away squiggling lines into the dirt.

 

“I’m sorry.” Anders muttered as he and Aveline walked up. Sorry for making them wait on him, sorry for being such a bother, sorry for being him. So many things to apologize for; he didn’t know how many times he could keep saying sorry until Hawke would stop believing him.

 

“Nah, don’t be. I took the time to teach Fenris how to play a game I used to play back in Lothering with my siblings in the farmer fields.” Hawke leaned in to whisper in Anders’ ear. “He isn’t too happy that he didn’t win a single match; I should start making him play for coin.”

 

Normally, Anders would laugh at something like that. Giggle at the strange and mundane things Hawke would say. But he couldn’t even muster up the energy to smile. Hawke’s grin dropped.

 

“Hey Anders. Are you alright?” He reached out to grab Anders’ hand, but Anders pulled away. For some reason, anyone touching him right now made him feel disgusting. He wanted to hide away from everyone and everything and bury his head into something dark and soft and cover his ears until he couldn’t hear anything. He wanted to find an empty corner and just curl up as small as he could be and block the whole world out.

 

They started the trek back into Kirkwall, hardly a word being spoken between them. Anders was exhausted, his limbs heavy and it felt like he was wadding through a thick molasses. Putting one step in front of the other took the majority of his concentration – right left step step, right left step step – and if he stopped focusing on that, he would fall and never get up again. He barely noticed Hawke shooting worried glances in his direction or how Aveline made sure to keep her pace slow enough to walk next to Anders without letting him fall behind.

 

Anders was empty and hollow, his medical mind attributing it to a lack of nutrition and very little sleep. When had been the last time he slept more than an hour before jolting up from nightmares? He could remember sleeping soundly for at least a few hours while in Amaranthine, but his nights in Kirkwall were all a big foggy blur. It was getting harder and harder to think, the recall moments that he swore he would never forget. The heaviness in his limbs and chest seemed to increase.

 

“- get food in him. Not heavy.” He could hear Fenris saying to Hawke. “He’ll be useless to you otherwise.” They were talking about him. Fenris would think he was useless with his display earlier, why wouldn’t he?

 

What else had they been whispering to each other about him, knowing that Anders was too far into his own mind to pay attention? Anxiety curled in his chest, the dread of not knowing what deplorable truths his companions had already discussed bringing the world into a hyper focus. Every reflection of light, every sound caught his attention as he struggled to catch every detail as they stepped on the smooth pathways of Kirkwall.

 

The vendors were being especially loud as they closed shop; wares thumping against each other so harshly, Anders was surprised he couldn’t hear the pieces shattering. The falling sunlight bounced off every surface and his head ached with the extra beams of light he had never noticed before.

 

Hawke pulled his hand into his, wrapping their fingers together tightly. Why was he doing this? Did Hawke want to drag him off someplace where Anders couldn’t run away? Was this where Hawke would finish him off for the good of everyone? Scenarios raced around his head like a whirlwind.

 

“Come on Anders. Let’s go get that lunch I promised you earlier.” Lunch? Why lunch when it was clearly time for the last meal of the day? Where was Hawke leading him?

 

“Hawke, you might want to give him some space.” He could hear Aveline warn in the background although it sounded like she was shouting right in his ears.

 

“But he’ll run off and he really needs to get something to eat, Aveline!” Aveline just grunted. Run off? Anders was good at running; he liked being able to run. He hated being trapped with nowhere to go. But Hawke didn’t want him to run off.

 

It felt like his ribcage would burst with how hard his heart was beating.

 

The panic coiled around his chest eased only slightly when he saw that Hawke had brought him to the Hanged Man. Varric was at the Hanged Man. Varric and Isabela were both at the Hanged Man and they were both safe.

 

But what if they weren’t safe anymore? They were Hawke’s first. Always Hawke came first; Hawke was Hawke and everyone loved Hawke. What if Hawke was bringing him here to have Varric and Isabela help in keeping him trapped?

 

No, no. Anders wouldn’t be trapped; would no longer let himself be locked behind doors and bars and gilded cages _, locked away in the dark and the cold, can’t move can’t move no space no light_. _Why won’t they let him out, he hasn’t tried clawing at the walls to break through in ages and his voice was lost to screams forever ago. Let him out, let him out, please please please._

 

No. He wouldn’t let any of them trap him. They were his friends. But at the first sign of _something_ he would cast a repulsion glyph and then haste to run run run as far away as possible.

 

Anders watched carefully as Hawke pulled out a chair for him to sit on, calling for a bowl of stew from Corff. Anders watched as a bowl of something that may have been stew was pushed in front of him, Hawke setting a spoon next to his hand with a tentative smile on his face.

 

“Eat up, Anders. The finest stew special Corff has ever made; good for lunch and supper.” He couldn’t eat this. Anders stared into the bowl, his empty stomach rolling. He wasn’t hungry, and he couldn’t eat the stew. Couldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t. It was too thick, too much; what if there was poison in it?

 

“Anders?” Hawke was worried. He was using his worry tone which meant Anders had done something wrong – what didn’t he do wrong? – and the mage knew it was because he wasn’t eating, but why couldn’t Hawke see that he _couldn’t_?

 

“Hawke! Didn’t expect you to show up after a trip to the coast.” Varric sauntered down the stairs into the bar; Bianca slung comfortably over his shoulder, Isabela only a few steps behind him.

 

“I’m surprised you got Man-Hands to stay for more than a few minutes this time!” Isabela laughed. “Usually she runs straight back to her lovely husband with his many lovely parts.”

 

“Shut up, whore.” Aveline said with no heat. “I already sent a runner to Donnic to let him know I’ll be sticking around here for a while. So don’t get any more ideas of dressing up in one of my old uniforms to chase him down.”

 

“I never try the same trick on the same person. I am offended that you would even think that of me.”

 

The normal idle chatter was pleasant to listen to around him. Anders let the voices wash over him, feeling more at ease than he had since the afternoon. He still felt tightly wound, but it was manageable just listening to people speaking around him while he kept his gaze on a spot on the table near the bowl of stew that he couldn’t eat.

 

“Why haven’t you started eating yet, Anders?” Hawke, Hawke with his worried expression, eyes shifting back and forth from the bowl to Anders face over and over.

 

“Are you alright Sparkle fingers? You’re looking a little peakish there.” Isabela was too close. Too close and her hand was in his face and it was far too much because now everyone was looking at him and wanting to ask questions and wanting him to answer and he couldn’t, why did everyone keep looking at him?

 

The chair scrapped back against the floor as Anders tried to scramble as far away from everyone as possible. His back hit the wall of the tavern and his lungs stopped working. Everything was too bright, too loud; too many people advancing on him like a cornered animal.

 

“Anders you need to calm down.” Someone said soothingly. It only made Anders panic more.

 

“I am calm!” Why wouldn’t the wall open up and let him pass through? Why was everyone still coming closer?

 

“Then why are you yelling?” That was Aveline, logical and pragmatic and _wrong_. He wasn’t yelling. Maybe he was just a little loud, but it wasn’t yelling. _She_ didn’t know anything!

 

“I’m not! Go away!” He needed something to throw, something to make the wall open up, something to make the people stop moving closer – _closer and closer until they swallowed him up never let him go never let him leave trap him forever with lies and false concerns and cages_. Why wasn’t there anything in reach?

 

Someone managed to sneak around his other side, lightly touching his shoulder. Anders screamed, pushing whomever it was trying to run for the door, only to smash into one of the empty tables placed against the wall.

 

They were too close, too many of them and they wouldn’t stop coming. Wouldn’t stop and he wanted them to but they wouldn’t wouldn’t wouldn’t. The word got stuck around his head repeating it again and again as the shadows kept growing bigger and bigger until all he could see was the shadows coming for him.

 

Falling had never felt so wonderful before.

 

* * *

 

“What do we do? What do we do?” Hawke was in a flurry of panic, moving forward to be near Anders who had fallen unconscious minutes before and was now resting in Varric’s room, his head cushioned by the dwarf’s lap. The entire group had marched into the dwarf’s large living area, Anders slung over Fenris’ shoulder who had left the moment he tossed the mage down. Aveline, Isabela, Hawke, and Varric all apologized to Corff for the scene, who for once had been sympathetic and waved them off with an extra cup of tea.

 

“Give that to the Healer when he wakes up. There’s a bit of lemon and honey in there. Worked on my husband.”

 

Now the group was sitting around waiting for Anders to wake, Hawke afraid that Anders had been so fearful because of something _he_ did.

 

“It wasn’t your fault, Hawke.” Aveline said from her spot on the table. Hawke ignored her and kept pacing back and forth. “Oh, for – Hawke!” Aveline surged up and dragged Hawke to sit on a chair forcibly. “It wasn’t your fault.” She repeated.

 

“But he was fine until I started questioning him. I mean, he looked like he was going to melt into a puddle or something every time I looked at him, and I still kept doing it!”

 

“That breakdown was going to happen anyways. I’ve seen it before with a few soldiers at Ostagar. They would get overwhelmed from the rations, from fighting nonstop, from a lot of things. Then everything would set them into a panic until it blew over.” Aveline shrugged. “It just happens to some people. Best we can do is just being there when they wake up.”

 

“I had a crew member who had a freak out while out at sea once. First storm at sea and the aftermath when everything was calm and still had him nearly jumping overboard.” Isabela sat next to Varric on the rug, leaning against one of the table legs, her fingers carding through Anders’ hair.

 

“Can’t say I’ve had any experience with this sort of thing, Hawke. But the ladies seem to know what they’re talking about. Come sit down here and we’ll have a little cuddle pile. The Guard Captain can join us when she’s taken off those metal bits that can poke out an innocent dwarf’s eye.” Varric patted the ground. Anders was arranged perpendicular to the dwarf’s legs, his long limbs curled underneath his body; Isabela sat behind Anders, shoulder to shoulder with Varric. Hawke slid down from the chair to sit on Varric’s free shoulder, letting his head drop on the other’s shoulder.

 

“I don’t know what to do.” Hawke whined. “I want to help, but I have no idea how. Anders doesn’t tell me anything of what he wants.”

 

“It could be he doesn’t know how to ask.” Isabela shrugged.

 

“Or he doesn’t want to trouble you with it.” Aveline had taken off her armor and sat down, rolling her shoulders as she did so. “You’re busy helping a lot of people Hawke. And so is he. You did notice that he hadn’t eaten the apple you gave him, right?”

 

“I was hoping I had just missed him eating it.” Hawke said mournfully. “I keep asking him to help me go on these stupid ventures. And he’s busy running his clinic during the day and the Mage Underground at night and he never seems to sleep or eat and I bet you anything he’s lost even more weight and there’s nothing I can do about it!” Hawke buried his face into Varric’s shoulder. A muffled “It’s not fair” came from Varric’s shirt.

 

“There, there Hawke.” Varric bent his elbow to pat Hawke’s head. “You’ve already done a ton for Blondie. And he’s grateful to you for it. Problem is he doesn’t know how to take care of himself when there are others around that need his help.”

 

“Oh. So I should –“

 

“What you should do, is keep doing what you’re doing, Sugar.” Isabela interrupted, leaning over to poke Hawke’s cheek. “If he’s not going to remember to eat, bring him food. If you see he hasn’t slept in days, take him out of his damn clinic and to your bed.”

 

“I don’t want to have sex with him, Isabela! I’m not interested in doing the rutting deed!”

 

“You don’t need a bed to do the rutting deed, Hawke. Have I taught you nothing?”

 

“No, I refused to learn!” Hawke covered his ears with his hands, trying to hum loud enough to drown Isabela out.

 

“Never say never, Hawke! Have I told you about the wall sex with those brutish types yet? Man-Hands you might love this with Donnic so take notes.”

 

“I don’t need you for help in my sex life, Isabela.” Aveline groaned.

 

“Nonsense.” Isabela grinned widely. “Everyone needs me in their sex lives, I make it so much better with all of my party tricks.”

 

Varric chuckled as he listened to his friends bicker and swap stories, taking mental notes to put some of this material in his next book; Anders still comfortably asleep on his lap. Merrill and Fenris stopped by a little while later; the Dalish elf had her hands full of trinkets, fruit, cheese and bread. Fenris was scowling as he followed Merrill into the room, his hands full with blankets and pillows.

 

“There was someone who acted similar to Anders in the alienage a while back. I thought Merrill could help.” The warrior elf muttered to Varric, depositing the blankets on the ground.

 

“Let me guess, you didn’t expect to get drafted into helping Merrill come over here?” Varric grinned. Fenris refused to look away from Varric, resolutely staring him down. But Varric caught the telltale signs of Fenris being secretly pleased by his ears twitching.

 

Merrill carefully put the food and little baubles down on Varric’s table before sneaking a spot between Isabela and Aveline. Fenris kept giving glancing to the door until Hawke dragged him down to sit next to him.

 

It was all really adorable and domestic. Varric felt something flutter in his heart for this ragtag group that had come together.

 

Hours passed and the sun had started to peak through the cracks in his blinds over the windows before Anders started to stir. The mage had uncurled at some point in the middle of the night, legs stretched out, although his arms remained curled up by his side. Everyone else had dozed off a few hours before dawn; Hawke lay curled up with his head next to Anders on Varric’s lap, his arm outstretched to tightly hold onto Fenris who was sleeping sitting up next to Varric. Isabela had moved to his feet, sprawled out with Merrill tucked into her chest and Aveline had taken the pirate’s earlier spot next to Varric, her head drooped on Varric’s left shoulder and her legs draped over Anders’ torso.

 

“Hey Blondie. You awake?” Varric whispered. He managed pull out some paper and a pen to jot down ideas and begin drafting a new story during the night.

 

“Varric?” Anders sounded half asleep, his name slurring off of his tongue. Varric resisted the urge to laugh and coo.

 

“Yeah, it’s me. You feelin’ any better?” Anders was silent for a few long moments.

 

“I didn’t hurt anyone, did I? When I… when I was doing whatever it was I was doing.” Nugs for shit, the healer sounded _scared_.

 

“If you’re thinking of apologizing or moving from that spot Anders, think again.” Varric looked down at Anders, he could see his shoulders tense up. “You had a freak out. One, if Aveline was right, was long in coming due to you not eating or sleeping. When was the last time you did either of those things?”

 

“Well, I just woke up, so I was sleeping just now I assume.” Anders tried to smile. “And Hawke gave me an apple before we went out to the coast.”

 

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Did you eat the apple?”

 

“I…think so?” Anders winced. “No, I forgot about it.”

 

“Uh huh. Let me ask you again. When was the last time you slept, before today, or ate? Shit, Blondie. When was the last time you relaxed for more than a minute?”

 

“I don’t remember. I’m so-“

 

“Don’t want to hear any apologies, Blondie. I’m not the one who needs apologizing.”

 

“Maker, I caused problems for the others didn’t I? I had an episode and everyone had to see and now they know there’s something wrong with me and –“ Anders’ chest was heaving; Varric reached down and started stroking his hair. It was something Bartrand had used to do to him when they were both small. Anders fell silent.

 

“You didn’t cause any problems. Would everyone be having a sleepover in my room if that was the case?”

 

“I guess… not.” Anders whispered.

 

Varric nodded. “Got it in one, Blondie. You got friends here who want to help. Unfortunately, you can’t refuse. Or get any refunds. In fact, I think we’ll be doing this sleepover thing more often. Makes me worry less of having you lot wandering all over Kirkwall in the dead of night after Wicked Grace. “ Anders let out a weak chuckle.

 

“Go back to sleep, Blondie. Maker knows all of you could use a bit more shuteye. Oh shit, wait before I forget. Daisy told me to tell you to come over whenever you can because Commander Enasalin has moved into her home. I don’t know what that means, but there you go.”

 

Anders smiled. “Commander Enasalin is a kitten one of her neighbors’ cats gave birth to. A fierce adorable fluff ball, Commander Enasalin is.”

 

“You really do love cats, don’t you Blondie?” Varric laughed. Anders shrugged as best he could while still lying down.

 

“When I was still with the Wardens, Ser Pounce a Lot helped keep me calm during these episodes.” He said quietly. “But once the Warden Commander left and this new idiot came in from Orlais, they made me get rid of him. Said they made me too soft. Justice nearly tore himself apart trying to keep from doing stupid things after that. And Rolan…” Anders trailed off into silence, slowly trying to curl himself back up without moving Aveline too much.

 

“Nah, tell me later.” Varric did want to hear this story. Wanted to know who exactly to aim Bianca at for distressing his friend. “You go back to sleep. And then you’re eating everything Merrill brought, plus drinking that tea Corff whipped up for you. And then we’ll talk about you coming here to eat with me every other day. I refuse to suffer on Corff’s specials alone.”

 

“Varric…”

 

“You quiet and sleep. Not another peep out of you.” Varric continued stroking Anders’ hair, seeing no reason to stop.

 

“Yes, da.” Anders yawned in the middle of his laugh, slowly drifting back into slumber.

 

“That includes the rest of you, as well.” Varric rolled his eyes. “You are all terrible at feigning sleep.”

 

“But daaaaaaa.” Isabela and Hawke both fluttered their eyelashes.

 

“Nope. Back to bed or you’ll all be on your own tab from now on.” Instantly everyone had clenched their eyes shut and fake snores echoed around the room.

 

“You are all brats.” Varric grinned. All of them were his brats, crazy as all of them were. He didn’t need Bartrand for family ties; he had found his own little family to replace the traitorous bastard. He could feel Anders smiling, his face pressed into his thighs.

 

He probably wasn’t the only one of the group to feel that way.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, thank you for reading this! Just a couple of notes 
> 
> 1\. Anders' anxiety attack was actually taken from one I had last month while out walking with my mother for the holidays. The things Anders said to Aveline are a direct quote. 
> 
> 2\. I wasn't sure how to properly write a maniac episode for bipolar disorder, and I did try, but I think I ended up pulling more from my social anxiety and PPD. 
> 
> 3\. It was just going to be Anders Hurt/Comfort. But of course I needed it to end up being fluffy shenanigans with everyone involved. 
> 
> 4\. Commander Enasalin is Commander Victory. Merrill and Anders both named the cat, let your imaginations run wild as to what sort of kitten it is and let me know. I like to think it's a darker color Singapura Cat: https://www.petfinder.com/cat-breeds/Singapura
> 
> 5\. There's no Sebastian because I have zero idea of how to write the bloke. I only have the regular game which means I would have to spend an extra $7 to unlock his DLC and character and I really don't feel like doing it. So no Sebastian, sorry about that! 
> 
> 6\. I'm just going to end this asking for a bit of constructive criticism. Whenever I write extended dialogues, I always feel like I end up making it extra bland. Could someone please let me know if that's true? Thank you!


End file.
